


War of Hearts

by ForgivenWhimsy



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aftermath of attempted suicide, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Slow Burn, Zenos being Zenos, and some light stabbing, artificial echo's also have visions, attempted suicide mentions, echo used as a plot device, some blood...not much, there's a knife, threat and fear of non-con (not acted upon), threats of murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgivenWhimsy/pseuds/ForgivenWhimsy
Summary: Shiloh has been many things in the preceding years, weapon, symbol, and now, bribe. She is the cost the Eorzean and Doman Alliances have paid for peace. Her autonomy, her needs all paled in comparison to the end of aggression from Garlemald. Her husband to be, none other then her greatest enemy, Zenos Yae Galvus. Her moment of pity, of weakness when she saved his life that day in the menagerie will haunt her for the rest of her life.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Comments: 28
Kudos: 62





	1. Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the [Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for this AU, bunch of enablers. Tags and rating are subject to change, any major CW's will be noted in the notes at the beginning of the chapter as well as in tags. I have a very vague idea of where this is going, but there might be some...darker themes because it's Zenos. Heed the tags. Let's see where this trash fire goes.

It was absurd, laughable almost were it not happening in real time. Before her stands Varis, not a priest of the Twelve, to her right stands the man she was marrying, not the love of her life, not even someone she might like, no, to her right stands her most hated enemy. Zenos Yae Galvus. And Shiloh stands stock still, in a gown of shimmering gold, trimmed in red, the three interlocking diamonds, symbol of her long standing enemy embroidered into the delicate fabric, the same colours repeating in the bouquet she holds. She’s surprised any flowers at all deign to grow in the northern waste that was Galremald. Strange that she can still be surprised considering the outrageous betrayal that brought her here. She speaks the words of fealty, words of love, words of promise, and dutiful to the last, she places her hand over Zenos’s and Varis twins the red and gold cord around their hands. The weight of the ring on her left hand itches, as if the metal had been tempered in acid. 

Shiloh had been many things in the preceding years, weapon, symbol, and now, bribe. She was the cost the Eorzean and Doman Alliances have paid for peace. She is the concession, by giving her to Garlemald, Varis has effectively disarmed his opponents, not that he hadn’t given back, the castrums in Eorzea and Doma are being dismantled as the farce carries on. The leaders, for their part, had done a good job of wringing their hands in a show of contrition and regret, but ultimately their people had to come first, even the Scions, her friends, or so she’d thought, had said it was for the good of the realm. No one, not a single one, had thought to put her wants, or her needs first. They were present, all of them watching as she turns, watching as Zenos, towering over her, takes her chin in his hands and bends to kiss her. That she doesn't recoil, or fill his mouth with bile is a miracle, likely her last. Hydealyn is ever silent, even as the crowd claps for the royal couple. She is named princess, and a gaudy Garlean crown is placed on her head. Absurd. Shiloh is in the seventh hell. 

When the ceremony ends she takes Zenos’s arm and is led to the grande reception hall. He even pulls the chair out for her, ever the polite monster. They sit on a raised dais, course after course of food brought before them, and each tastes like ash in her mouth. Garlean nobles and Erozeans alike present gifts, one after the other the alliance leaders declare their friendship and present a gift that would remind her of home. She does not smile, she does not pretend, let the alliance leader's final memory be of her disdain, she hopes they choke on their guilt. If she could have burned the gifts, she would have, sadly thurmaturgy was not her strength, though she knew enough to light the entire pile on fire, were it not for the aether dampening shackles she’d been given upon her arrival in Garlemald. They appeare to be nothing more than golden bangles, but they were narrow enough that they could not be removed, and removing them required a controller. A controller Varis held. The emperor had cited safety, knowing full well she was present under duress, knowing full well the destruction she was capable of. He promised he would unshackle her when he knew he could trust her not to kill them all while they slept. She supposed she would be wearing them until her dying breath. 

Shiloh palms a steak knife with her napkin before the servants clear her plate. This catches her husband's notice, he leans towards her. 

“And what does my dear beast plan on doing with such a weapon?” His hand finds hers under the table where she grips the knife in a white knuckled grip. 

“I was hoping to slit your throat in your sleep, dear husband.” She gives him a honeyed smile better suited to an adder. “Finish what you started.” 

“I’m glad to see this marriage business hasn’t stolen your passion.” 

Shiloh lets him take her hand, and remove the knife from her possession. “Take off my shackles and I’ll show you how much passion I still have.”

“Were it in my power, I would. It was never my desire to see you so caged, but my fathers.” Zenos lifts her hand, caressing the offending bracelet, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. Shiloh tightens her hold on him, digging her nails into his palms, fighting the urge to recoil. He smiles against her skin. She wills his immolation, with no luck.

“I’ll be sure to cut his throat, after I cut yours.” She answers sweetly, “don’t touch me.” and yanks her hand away. 

Alphinaud clears his throat to announce his presence, he shuffles, gone is the diplomat who helped arrange the peace between nations, his guilt is writ plainly on his face in the way he avoids her gaze. Finally he musters his courage and looks her in the eye. He offers Zenos a bow and a _your Radiance,_ and finally hands her a gift. It’s simple wrapping in comparison to the other wedding gifts. She knows what it is the moment she gets her hands on it, a canvas. He’s painted her something. Already she feels the lump forming in her throat. 

“I know you’re angry with us, with me, but I wanted you to know that you will always be a Scion, our friend, our family. I- we love you Shiloh, and I hope, that in time, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.” 

Shiloh’s finished unwrapping the painting, it’s all of them, the Scions, he’s even added Moenbryda, Papalymo, and Lyse, Shiloh herself is painted at the center, smiling, loved, being embraced by Alisaie, Tataru laughing beside them. She remembers the day they posed for him, and how they laughed, and he groused at them moving too much, it was so rare for all of them to be back at the Stones at once. She presses her lips together to keep the sob locked in her throat. She turns watery eyes on Alphinaud, “Family doesn’t use family as collateral.” She stands, it’s suddenly all too much, the din of conversation, the heat, the smells of the food, and Alphinaud, her younger brother in all but blood, looking at her with hope in his eyes. She can’t. 

“You are not forgiven, Alphinaud Leveilleur.” Her voice hisses out, cutting like a dagger, a whisper of a crack belying her emotion. The room has grown deadly quiet, she can feel hundreds of eyes on her, and she wants to scream. She looks past Alphinaud to Alisaie, to the Scions, to the leaders of the nations of Eorzea. People she held dear, who could not, or would not, stand for her the way she’d stood for them. Who when push came to shove, decided she was expendable, that she was an acceptable price for peace. “None of you are.” 

Shiloh leaves the painting on the table, and turns to leave, she can’t breath. 

  
  


The Ilsabardian air bites into her skin, colder than Ishgard, the wind has knives in Garlemald. She focuses on not crying, willing the tears to freeze where they were, unshed. She inhales, the cold even makes breathing painful, a wild laugh escapes her when she wonders if that’s why Garleans all wear goofy helmets. 

She hears his heavy step behind her. “I want to be alone.” and she mostly keeps the waver from her voice. 

“I think you made the boy cry, judging by how quickly he fled from you.” Zenos purrs, marginally less bored then he was a moment ago. 

“Good.” Her heart feels fit to shatter. 

“Come inside.” 

“Fuck you.” 

He steps closer, and she feels a weight on her shoulders, a warm weight. And she nearly shudders in relief before she realizes it’s Zenos’s coat. She shrugs it off, and feels satisfaction to see it fall in a puddle. He sighs behind her.

“I should have let you kill yourself, I should have finished the job of cutting that damnable head from your body, instead of saving your cursed life.” She spits the words out, letting her anger wrap around her like a mantle, somehow willing her simmering rage to warm her blood against the cold. 

“Why didn’t you?” She can feel his body heat behind her when he leans down to gather his coat. 

“Because you should have faced justice for the murder and mayhem you’ve committed, because…” She turns around to face him, and her anger flares at the need to look up at him, to crane her neck so very high to meet his eyes, “because I pitied you. How sad a life you must have led that only in coming so close to death did you feel anything at all. I spared you because, like a fool, I thought even a monster deserved mercy.” She straightened herself, even as her whole body shivered in her ostentatious dress, “I will not make the same mistake twice.” 

“And yet you would throw away your chance at vengeance by courting hypothermia.” He brings his large hand to her face, stopping short of touching her, thumb poised above her lips. “Patience is a hunter’s virtue, not petulance.” 

“Are you encouraging me to try and kill you?” The heat coming off of Zenos’s hand is warm, beckoning, she needs only tilt her head for her face to be cupped in his palm, instead she steps away. 

“How else are we to while away our time?” The smile he gives her is lazy, catlike, and predatory. 

“You’re mad.” 

“I’ve been called worse.” 

“Quite the bloody pair, the two of us.” She huffs out a breath, and one of her lips quirks up briefly before she schools her features. Not soon enough because Zenos’s smile widens, the man is far too observant. 

She leaves the balcony to return to the palace without a backwards glance. 


	2. Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected ally, and and an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: fear and threat of non-con (not acted on,) Playing with a knife, a bit of blood. 
> 
> Also Regula lives in my AU.

Shiloh wir Galvus, another name, another title, princess of Garlemald, this title the most ill fitting of all. She doesn’t return to the wedding reception, opting instead to retire for the night. She stalks the palace hallways tearing the crown from her head, cursing when it yanks at her hair. She hurls it against the walls where it clangs and drops, cacophonous in the silence of the royal residence wing. 

“That bad?” Shiloh spins towards the voice. A Garlean, pureblood, of middling years, with weathered skin, chestnut hair beginning to turn to grey, with a matching closely cropped beard of salt and pepper. His eyes are a striking moss green, and smile lines appear readily around his mouth and eyes when he grins at her, sheepish as he pulls the tangled hair from her crown, before offering it back to her. 

“Regula.” She takes the crown, lets it hang between her fingers. “Yes, that bad, I think you might be the only highlight of the night.” 

He lets out a low whistle and offers her his arm, which she takes. “That is bad.” He reaches out to pat her hand softly. “In time I’m sure your circumstances will improve, both His Radiance and the prince value strength, intelligence and skill, and I daresay you have all three in spades.” 

“I don’t care about their approval.” She doesn’t look at him, scowling down the corridor. 

“Be that as it may, you will need it if ever you wish to regain your use of magic, and I intend to help you.” 

“How are you going to help me?” Shiloh stops mid stride, curious. 

“I am to be your gunblade instructor. And instructor to whatever other weapon you might fancy learning.” 

“What about your injuries?” 

“My injuries are only injuries thanks to you, and while they preclude me from acting as a Legatus, they do not prevent me from being both your martial instructor, and advisor.” 

“And advisor? Varis has assigned you to be my babysitter?” She says, scoffing. 

“I requested the position.” Easy grin gone, replaced by gentle seriousness. “I wish to see you do well, your Grace. There are enough within the court who would see you fail, or think it an inevitability. Show them they are wrong, be better than their expectations even if the only thing fueling you is spite.” He stops to face her, the grip on her shoulders heavy and tight. “I would see you thrive, Warrior of Light.” 

For the first time in years, her first title doesn’t feel like a slap in the face. “I will not be an obedient and meek princess, Regula.” 

“I would never ask you to be meek.” They stop in front of the entrance to her and Zenos’s rooms. “A future empress has no business being meek.” He tilts her head up with a forefinger and thumb on her chin. “Let them underestimate you at their peril.” He steps away, seeing her off with a short bow and a friendly smile. “I’ll speak with you tomorrow. Good evening, your Grace.” 

After wishing Regula a good night, Shiloh makes her way into the royal suites, previously Zenos’s rooms, that she was now expected to share. In truth it is a sprawling apartment, including a sitting room complete with a fireplace, and more couches and chaise lounges that two people could ever use that opens to an enormous private balcony. 

The study is dark, spanning two floors, bedecked in Garlean red and deep mahogany, the walls hung with the heads of a menagerie of animals from across the star. A spiral staircase opens into a private library, a feature Shiloh didn’t expect, as big above, as the rest of the apartment is below. 

The bedroom is decorated in red and black, the bed sitting atop a raised dais, the focal point of the room. Zenos’s armor adorns a dummy, and the walls are decorated with all manner of weapons, katanas, gunblades, axes, greatswords, muskets, and a longbow. Two more rooms, wardrobes, open on the far side of the bedroom. The bed itself is heavy and wooden and massive, easily able to accommodate Zenos yae Galvus three times over, with intricately carved posts draped in black and red velvet curtains. The sheets are satin, and black. A third, double door, opposite the bed, leads to the opulent bathing room, complete with deep clawed bathtub, a plunge pool, and a small room dedicated to the shower, another to a sauna.

  
  


Shiloh stands at the threshold of the bedroom, illuminated by filtered moonlight, dark and imposing. She'd hoped she might be granted her own bedroom. She should know better than to hope. The room smells of her husband’s distinct scent, a deep but subtle musk twined with sandalwood, she tears her eyes from the bed, closes the door behind her. The thought of sleeping next to him, at his mercy in his inner sanctum twists her guts up into tight uncomfortable knots.

The crown lands more gently on a chaise lounge in the salon. Shiloh tugs off the heavily jeweled necklace from her throat, and gasps a breath. She steps out of her heels, losing three ilms, not that the extra height helps any. And he calls her beast. A native of Limsa, she's used to feeling small, yet Zenos not only has his size, but his presence, the intangible threat within his energy. She glances back towards the bedroom and hugs herself. 

She will not be meek, hadn’t she just told Regula? Instead she wanders the apartment, learning her environment, his space, and considers her options. The weapons in the bedroom were too obvious he would notice one missing right away. She paces into the study and spies a jeweled dagger, a letter opener upon closer inspection; but the blade is sharp.

Fear coils in her chest as the grandfather clock rings the eleventh bell. Shiloh does not doubt Zenos yea Galvus will take what he wants. She rubs at the twin bangles that act as her shackles, her aether, her magic still a presence but out of reach, as if locked away. She feels naked without it in a way that no amount of armor could ever cover. The corset of her wedding dress is stifling. She sweeps into the bedroom, tucks the blade beneath her pillow, before making her way to the bathroom. Locking the door behind her. 

Shiloh peels away the trappings of her new position, dropping them on the floor like so much litter. Even as a healer her body is full of scars, but the biggest, the angriest, Zenos had given her. It stretches from just below her right breast and ends at her left hip bone. The strike had broken his blade back in Rhalgr’s Reach. She traces it with her fingers.

The bath fills quickly and she sinks into the heat. It floods her senses, untensing her muscles, the relief is palpable, she sinks lower submerging herself utterly breathing the fragranced water with her blessing. She cries then, in great heaving sobs, masking even her tears. All her fear, and anger, and helpless disappointment, tearing from her throat now that she’s alone, the water muffling her every sound. She doesn’t see the slightest twitch from the doorknob. 

  
  


The water is cold by the time she exits the tub; she dresses in a silk negligee, red, with black lace trim, left out for her by unseen servants. She eyes herself in the mirror, wills the fear from her face. When she steps from the bathroom the air in the room has changed. Zenos is home. 

The dagger is gone, taken from under her pillow, she takes a tremulous breath, and ventures outside the bedroom. Shiloh finds him in the study sitting in a high back chair, legs crossed with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Zenos watches the fire with an intensity she hasn’t seen since their clash in Ala Mhigo. There, sitting on the side table, is a second glass with two knuckles worth of amber liquid, and the stolen letter opener. 

“Brandy?” Zenos asks, head half turned towards her, eyes still focused on the flame.

The leather of the high back chair is cool against her bare thighs, she curls her tail onto her lap and picks at the pointed tip. The heat of the fire keeps the constant Illsabardian chill at bay. Shiloh notes that the handle to the dagger is angled towards her, within easy reach and isn’t sure if she should be insulted or greatful. She feels the moment he turns his eyes on her, feels the intensity, despite his half lidded gaze. The fire reflects in still blue pools. Shiloh lifts her head, refusing to be intimidated, holding his gaze, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her horns. She’s rewarded with a slow smile. 

“It isn’t poisoned, or drugged.” He takes a sip from her glass as proof of his word. 

Shiloh drinks opposite the imprint of his lips. The alcohol is warm and sweet, with a bite. 

“My father was most displeased by your flight,” Zenos sips his own drink next, pink tongue wetting his lips after, “as was I.” He holds his glass up to the fire light.“Though, I imagine for different reasons.”

“I can assure you I don’t give a whit about you or your father’s pleasure.” Shiloh sips her drink again, resisting the urge to take the dagger, fights to keep her countenance steady, unaffected. 

“No, I don’t imagine you do. I care not about my father’s imagined slight, but I was disappointed by your cowardice. You have never been one to flee in the face of hardship.” He studies her in the same way a lion might study it’s meal. 

A rage she did not think possible blooms in her chest. Shiloh snatches the letter opener from the table, and with a quickness that surprises her she brings it to the soft skin under his jaw, furious, terrified, she digs. Blood runs down her makeshift weapon. Zenos catches her wrist before she can dig deeper. She exhales. 

“I will not be lectured on cowardice by you, Zenos yea Galvus.” She tilts the blade, and he tilts in turn, exposing the large still pink scar on his throat. The scar he’d caused, the skin and veins and artery she’d repaired, the scar she’d left him with, a second smile mocking her for her pity.

  
  


He smiles wider, showing her his teeth, and pulls her closer until she is between his knees and braced against his chest. The blood on the dagger drips onto their mingled fingers. 

“The beast still has claws.” He holds her wrist, touches the still bleeding cut with his free hand, and tastes the blood. He waits until she is looking him in the eye. “My father wants me to break you.”

She pulls away, but Zenos holds fast to her wrist, plucks the dagger from her hands. With a tilt of his head he slides the blade along her side, over the swell of her hips, feather soft against the delicate silk, stopping short of her skin, the action stills her utterly lest she cut herself. “He wants me to break your mind, your body, make you docile and obedient. A trophy for the empire, another head for my wall.” His breath is warm and sweet against her skin, still she shivers. 

“And what do you want?” Shiloh tries and fails to mask the tremble in her voice as he trails the blade back up along her body. 

“The opposite.” She feels the tip of the dagger dig into the soft skin under her chin, giving her a matching scar. She gasps at the pain, he tilts her head and catches her blood on his thumb, swipes it across her lower lip. Instinctually she licks it clean. The blue of Zenos’s eyes glow in the fire light.

“I have no interest in diminishing the only equal I’ve ever met. I can think of no better partner than the woman who danced to death with me in the skies of Ala Mhigo and lived .Tis the only reason I agreed to the match.” Zenos pulled her wrist up, opening his fingers to reveal the golden bangle. 

“I have no use for these safeguards, and even less for your fear.” He releases her, and Shiloh immediately steps back, touches her chin. She downs the rest of her brandy in a single swallow and leans on the table, heart beating out of time, legs shaking. 

“There is no joy in hunting easy prey.” Zenos stands and lifts her chin. “You need not fear our marriage bed, I will not take you against your will.” He lowered his lips to the top of her cheek, “No, my friend, when I take you, it will be because you asked.” 

“If I never ask?” 

He smiles, and chuckles low in his throat, leaving her stupefied in the middle of the study. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me over in the [Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) What's gonna happen next? I have no idea.


	3. Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revenant vision and an audience with the emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: aftermath of attempted suicide, mentions of blood.

It was a strange feeling, sharing a bed, Zenos has been alone for so long that he is hyper aware of her every movement, her change in breathing. They lie awake, his friend, his wife, his one time enemy, curled into a tight circle on the edge of the mattress. Her fear vexes him, but he’s been around enough skittish animals to know that patience was the only remedy. He stretches an arm behind his head and watches her through the shadows. He can be patient. His life has been defined by patience, but with her so near, for the first time since he was a boy, he finds patience difficult. 

He looks up at the canopy of his bed, willing his resonance to the fore, touches the fresh cut on his chin, and lets the vision take him. 

_ Euphoric joy, and bitterest sadness, the dichotomy as beautiful as their battle. His vision darkens just as the sun begins to set over Ala Mhigo, the blood loss is immense, he knows this, and he embraces this experience just as he embraced the last. Death does not come, instead something akin to a cool wind, gentle but insistent fills him within and without. He tries to inhale but can only manage a gurgle, his chest is starting to burn, he will drown in his blood, a fitting end.  _

_ “Coward.” She spits, but her hands are gentle, warm against his clammy skin, “spoiled prince.”  _

_ He wonders if she would still call him that if she knew. If she would care, but he cannot form words to ask, or to tell, there is so much he would tell her given the chance.  _

_ “I’m the victor, and I did not give you leave to die.” She whispers above him, eyes of molten gold filled with worry, for him?  _

_ He sees the bruises, the blood, evidence of their duel to the death, but she is beautiful, dazzling, painted in the colours of the sunset, all ivory and blazing flames and burnished gold. He watches her, transfixed by how the wind from her healing magics makes her hair play along her face. He wants to touch her. He tries, and she catches his hand, so small in his, and yet, she is so strong, fearless. Everything he’s ever wanted. _

_ “Don’t move.” She admonishes. He is in no position to argue. His lungs protest, and she looks to his chest, turning him slightly, his head on her lap, “shallow breaths, don’t fight it. You need to get the blood out of your lungs.” He begins coughing then, heaving and painful, it burns along the magically knitting skin, his friend, his enemy, brushes the hair from his face, pets his brow, as he empties his lungs and stomach onto the pink flowers of the royal menagerie. She croons encouragement in his ear, with her soft lilting voice, made rough from all the shouting and screaming of battle. He wants to wrap himself in her voice, her touch, craves it as much as he’d craved her magic, her promise of death.  _

_ He takes in a shuddering breath, tilting his head into her lap, a rumbling noise falling from his mouth, and he doesn’t know what it means, only that he wants to stay, wonders if this is the hereafter. Her fingers in his hair, her magic in his bones.  _

  
  


When next Zenos opens his eyes, he can breathe, the taste of copper and bile gone from his mouth. His beast- his wife’s breathing has evened out, finally asleep. She hates him, and fears him, and he should be used to this, he has been reviled since his earliest memories, but from her it rankles, digs into the chinks of his armor like persistent thorns. His father's gifts were ever double edged. 

She sighs beside him, turning in her sleep, and he glances back. On her back, head turned towards him, one arm over her stomach the other bent over her pillow, lips parted, her hair, like sunlight, spilling into her eyes and face. He rolls to his side, and reaches out to brush the hair out of her mouth. She twitches and makes an annoyed face, his heart squeezes. His father will use her against him, one of his many lessons, use her to hurt him, use her to manipulate him, and Zenos will obey, because the alternative is worse, always, it’s worse. Varis has seen his son’s obsession, it is an old and careless mistake. She’s right, better he had died. Zenos is no protector. He wonders if she will survive, if her spirit and rage will remain kindled.

  
  


“Don’t break.” He whispers to her in her sleep.

  
  
  


Zenos’s rest is fitful at best, full of fiery dreams, the same, night after night, relentless. He rises and dresses in silence, she sleeps on. Though he suspects she is pretending when her breathing changes, waiting for him to leave. He sits on the edge of the bed beside her. Lays a hand on the warm mound of blankets and squeezes, she gasps from within her cocoon. 

“My father demands an audience. It will be in front of the court. I shall await you outside.” He squeezes her shoulder again before leaving, passing an auri serving maid, who rushes into the bedroom as he leaves. Regula waits in the salon, his fathers surveillance starts early. 

“Regula,” Zenos looks over the selection of breakfast foods laid out on the table, picks an apple, and sits opposite his fathers lover. “What does he want?”

“I am not here at your father’s behest, I have been assigned to the princess as tutor and advisor, I thought to escort her to the audience.” Regula plucks a grape from the bowl. “I’m sure she is eager for a friendly face at this juncture.” 

“A shame that friendly face is her greatest enemy's lap dog.” Zenos narrows his eyes, and bites into his apple. 

“The emperor is neither your, nor her Grace’s enemy.” There is no conviction in his words and Regula does not hold Zenos’s gaze. 

“Then he will not mind unshackling her?” Zenos presses, leaning forward, picking some cheese and ham from the table, and laying it on a crust of bread. 

“Not while she remains a security risk-”

“Not so long as she remains unbroken you mean. I have been my fathers torturer and executioner long enough to know what he expects. Else she would not be my wife.” Zenos loses his appetite, and stands. 

“My Lord Zenos, I have no desire to see her harmed-” Regula begins to stand.

“Oh good, you’re both talking about me while I’m not around, anything I should be aware of?” His wife strides into the salon looking every inch a Garlean princess, in a daygown of draped red and black silk, held in place by golden shoulder epaulettes, loose golden chains dance along the plunging neckline, and her exposed back. A black tiara with glittering rubies sits atop her short golden hair. Wholly impractical. Zenos imagines tearing the chains from her body, wondering if they were meant to mock him, or her. It reeks of his father, to present his bride to the court in chains.

“Nothing you don’t already know, my dear.” The endearment feels strange on his tongue. Not unpleasant.

“Your Grace, there is time to break your fast before the audience.” Regula pulls out a chair for her, she smiles at him, and Zenos is disquieted by how comfortable she is around the former Legatus. 

She eats like a bird, picking, and nibbling not finishing, while Regula goes over court etiquette. Her lips press into a straight line. Beneath the nerves lays her anger, her rage, his beast, tightly caged and controlled, not only by his father’s chains but her own. Zenos sees her, with every tightened jaw, in the shifting molten gold of her eyes. He longs to unleash her, to free her from fear and shame, she is so far above such doubts. 

  
  


They make their way to the throne room, Zenos holds out his hand for her, and she hesitates. 

“Every movement, every glance, and word holds hidden meaning in that room.” Zenos says. “The court is a pack of rabid dogs, they can scent fear and will not hesitate to tear you apart if they sense weakness.” 

“ What do you suggest?”

“Take my hand, and know that you are capable of tearing each and every one of them apart with a flick of your wrist. They are beneath you.” Zenos narrows his eyes when she looks to Regula next. 

“He has the right of it.” Regula nods towards him in deference, “not the words I would have chosen, but the sentiment is the same. Let their words, and stares be like water, and you a stone.” 

Zenos rests one hand on the hilt of his sword, Shiloh takes his hand, and Regula opens the door to announce them. He squeezes her fingers once, but keeps his head forward, keeping his usual unhurried pace, she matches him. A tide of whispers follow them, until they are standing in front of the throne, Zenos offers the barest tilt of his head, but Shiloh dips into a low curtsey, her silk dress pooling around her like water, the chains, making delicate sounds. 

“Father.”

“Your Radiance.” 

Varis stands, “I trust you enjoyed your evening, daughter?” 

“Immensely, your Radiance, you are kind to ask.” Her voice is like honey, smooth and sweet, not a hint of fear. Zenos suppresses the urge to widen his smile. 

“I am glad to hear it. After you left the reception in such dramatic fashion, I feared for you. My son is known to have certain appetites, in the bedroom.” A series of titters and the mumble of conversation spills from the assembled nobles. The emperor circles them, inspecting her like a prize.

  
  


“I can assure you, your Radiance, my husband was nothing but respectful and considerate.” She smiles sweetly at Zenos, and he sees her anger flash, to then return her attention to the emperor. Daring Varis to contradict her. 

  
  


“Was he?” Zenos only smiles when his father turns his attention to him. Varis makes his way back to the throne. 

“Very well, then I shan’t keep you from your honeymoon.” The emperor smiles, Zenos grips the pommel of his sword a fraction tighter. “The summer palace is being prepared as we speak. Two moons should be more than enough time for the two of you to become better acquainted.” 

Zenos nods his head, “very well, and what of her controls?” 

“I shall revisit the subject upon your return.” 

“As his Radiance commands.” He vows to himself for the thousand’s time that his father will die by his hand and begins to turn to leave. Zenos holds his hand out for his beast to take.

“Regula will be joining you.” Varis adds. Smug victory in his voice. Zenos bends his neck and hears a pop, and steps towards the throne. 

“How very generous of you, I did not think you the type to share your toys. Though Regula is hardly to my taste, and I am certain the princess isn’t to his.” He glances to his side where Regula stands, nostrils flared, fists white knuckled. “But if you insist, I’m sure my wife and I will be able to keep the former Legatus entertained.” Zenos smiles wider when he sees his father sneer. Hears the torrent of whispers. 

“He will be joining the princess in an advisory capacity.” Varis peers at Shiloh, undisguised disdain on his face. “With the hope that when she returns she will be a princess worthy of the title. And not simply a savage in silk.” Zenos ignores the snickers and glances at his wife.

“Your Radiance” Shiloh’s tone remains soft and differential, but it holds a bite. “What does it say of the ladies of the court that you would rather marry your only heir to a savage rather than to one of them?” She curtsies low, but does not lower her eyes, gasps rise among the rabble. “I shall endeavour to meet your expectations, but I doubt them to be as high as you imply.”

“I will only tolerate your impertinence so far, Eikon Slayer, have a care.” 

Shiloh rises and takes Zenos’s outstretched hand, “I assure you, your Radiance, I have a care in everything I do.”

“Go.” Varis dismisses them with the wave of a hand.

Zenos guides her out of the throne room, she grips him tightly, and he notes the flare of her nose, and the set of her jaw. He chuckles low in his throat. The heavy doors close behind them with a loud thud. 

“Did that amuse you?” She tears her hand from his. 

“Immensely, yes.” 

They wander down the hallways, or rather Zenos wanders, while his wife stomps, the clack of her heels echoing throughout the halls, her chains jingling with every step. 

“Lord Zenos, Lady Shiloh.” Regula calls after them, his voice laced with anxiety. Shiloh pauses and waits, Zenos stops, reluctantly. 

“You were doing so well, your Grace, what could have possessed you to-”

“He called me a savage, Regula. In front of the court and the Twelve.” Regula opens his mouth, undoubtedly to placate. “I told you yesterday I would not be meek, I would not blindly obey, and I certainly will not bow to a bully.” 

Shiloh spins, pointer finger pressing firmly into Zenos’s chest, “that includes you, Regula is a friend, proven in honour and blood. He has more integrity than well over half the inhabitants of this cursed land. Your barbs were uncalled for.” 

  
  


Zenos narrows his eyes and catches her hand between his, bringing it to his lips, she freezes, swallows. He kisses her knuckles in a mockery of the courtly gesture. “My apologies.” He shifts his gaze to the former Legatus, “Regula. It seems you have my wife’s affection, for her sake I shall refrain from antagonizing you while at the summer palace.” He kisses her knuckles once more before releasing her hand, pleased at the fetching blush dusting her cheeks, and scowl creasing her face. 

“Thank you, Lord Zenos.” Regula clears his throat, and rubs the back of his neck.

“When do we leave?” Shiloh asks, flexing her hand..

“Just as soon as the airship has finished fueling. His Radiance was most insistent.” Regula bows to both of them. “Hanger three, in one bell.” and walks away at an incredible pace. 

“Tell me, wife-”

“Shiloh. I have a name, Zenos, use it. Wife is almost as bad as Beast.” 

“Very well, Shiloh” The name fills his mouth, simple and elegant, “do you ride?” 

“I ride chocobo’s well enough.” 

“Horses?” 

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” 

Zenos smiles guiding them towards the hangar bay. “I believe you will enjoy the summer palace, Shiloh.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, the [Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) are a bunch of beautiful enablers.


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